we'll make pretend that you and me lived ever after happily
by thatssupersketch
Summary: artemis never had been good with words.
1. we owe it to ourselves to try

Words had never been her strength.

Sure, she knew what to say to get by. Enough to appease, but still fly under the radar. Staying in her comfort zone; the one where she didn't stick out and no one looked at her differently.

She loved being in the middle of a crowd, noises surrounding her and people milling about. She loved it best when she didn't have to worry; didn't have to focus. It wasn't a mission, it wasn't anything. She was free to think and feel whatever she wanted without the ball and chain of life dragging at her feet.

She could be good enough at words if she wanted to, but life had never called upon her like that. The universe seemed to have placed her in the back to blend in amongst the foliage, and she was content with that.

He wasn't.

When no one else saw her, expertly ducking and weaving through crowds, trying her best to remain unnoticed, _he_ noticed. How could he not? It was nearly impossible not to follow her in the crowd; she constantly drew his eye. Over the years, her hair had gotten lighter, and now resembled starlight. He couldn't help but compare her to the heavenly creations in the sky, and come away disappointed when they didn't match the beauty of the girl in the crowd.

Her eyes were cold and distant most of the time; but that seemed to only draw him in closer. Her beauty was like a statue; cold and smooth and rigid- and he couldn't help feel like Pygmalion every time she came to life around him.

That was his favorite part. Watching her wake up beneath him, under his touch, was exhilarating. It gave him a sort of power that flowed through his veins like a burning fire. It was his fixation, and something he would constantly repeat if given the chance. Just as she could set him on fire, she could ice his heart.

After all; she was the goddess of the moon. Unpredictable but unyielding, she drove him as if he were the sun, bending to her every whim and pull. He didn't mind.

Her grace was inhuman, and she walked like a dancer, although he knew she never was or would wish to be. She was lithe and sure in her movements. Her steps flowed like Mercury. He loved watching her walk; he could not help but liken her to a jungle cat meticulously stalking her prey. She always had a purpose, remaining focused and undistracted.

She was the moon to his sun, the yin to his yang, and the push to his pull. They took and they gave as they fought and they loved.

He was good at words, everyone knew. His golden tongue amazed all.

She wasn't good with words, but the simplest phrase came easily to her in his presence.

(I love you.)


	2. so we aim and ignite

He had always been good with words. Never faltered, always trusting. They were polar opposites in every conceivable way, but always magnetically drawn towards each other. What she had lacked, he always provided. The warmth, the sun, the fire- everything.

He was a fire in all aspects. His hair, his freckles, his crooked grin, it was all warmth and started a fire inside herself she had never felt before. Around him, she came to life.

When he slowed down, he was a campfire, embers burning lowly after the best summer day. The haze of smoke in the air that tinged your dreams with the most wonderful thoughts.

He was bright as the sun, mellow as a warm summer night. Always leaving the aftertaste of sticky sweet marshmallows and nostalgia. Even when the campfire faded, when he faded, he still was exuberant with warmth. Always open, always honest. Ready to kindle again whenever he was called upon. The darkness would grow, and she would watch the embers flicker from red to orange, and couldn't help but feel as if a new world had been opened to her. The cracks in the firewood, the cracks in him, shone through with a glorious light that she was dumbfounded with the raw energy that was this boy.

The coals would shift and crackle, never quiet, always moving. He was enigmatic energy, constantly bouncing around. He seemed immortal, like the sun; its power and energy too great to destroy. His glow was something she had never encountered before; burning like the Olympic flame. His aura gave off a sense of importance, of purpose, and when she was around him, she felt important too. If not to the world, at least to him. That was all that mattered.

He raged when he was on the warpath, leaving destruction and fear in his wake. She hated to admit it, but it was one of her favorite parts about him – the raw power. She was drawn to it, to him. She admired the way he channeled it. Humanity resurfaced when he got angry, and reminded her that he was not the god of the sun he pretended to be.

The smell; oh, the smell. Crisp and smoky and absolutely wonderful. It made you feel nothing but nice things; it put you in a mental state you never wished to leave. A constant state of summer; freckles, sunburns and good times, all rolled into one. The perfect combination.

Leaving was like summer ending. Cold and uninvited, tasteless and unwelcome.

Sure, fires were welcome in the fall, but they never held the warmth, the glow, it radiated in the summer. She felt chills creep up her spine the longer she was away.

But the more she tried to disappear, to detach, he never let go. He could always see through her facades.

Just like the fire, he still provided warmth, comfort, and a sort of loyalty only a sort of inanimate object could give. Unlike the fire, he never burned out.

He always had been good with words, but it hadn't been enough to make her stay.

He knew she'd come back someday, even without her verbal reassurance. He knew her.

(He loved her.)


End file.
